


Prayers

by OhNoHello



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Begging, Dildos, Fingies in the mouth, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, hermes is a thirsty bird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27940436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: Hermes hadn’t known. He did not know that the world didn’t have the instant reaction he had, that Charon hadn’t been universally attractive as he was to him. That his appetites ran so focused and singular. That he had a type. And that his type was one and no other.Charon, sweet Charon, with all his attention and kindness and strength, only layered on this deep seated thirst that coursed through Hermes.Hermes objectified him.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 492





	Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> This fic put me in a fugue state. 
> 
> Sometimes you just gotta write Hermes rubbin' one out to his associate

Even gods slept. 

Apollo's chariot dipped below the horizon, draping the world in blissful serene night. The stars speckled through the dark canopy of the heavens. Sleep and dreams settled into every creature, immortal and lesser, to those who desired. What precious few stayed awake. Through the night, these insomniacs would work. Jobs needed doing, tasks needed fulfilling, the restless slept when they were dead. 

Hermes typically fell into those ranks. The sleepless, the unsettled, the doing. He could not simply be, he had to move. The lord of so many domains, ruling and guiding all those who may call upon him. 

And he was benched. 

Hermes grumbled as he _walked_ to his quarters on Olympus. 

" _Need some rest_ , I'll show them need some rest, I don't need rest," he spoke to the only one who could hear: himself. "There's still far too much to do and not enough time to do it and I don't need rest, ungrateful– Just who do they think they are, just because I get more done then they can, doesn’t give them the right to ground me. Jealousy is not a good look." 

The rest of his rant dissolved into muttered curses as he stomped down the marble halls. Olympus had all but been abandoned in favor of godly beds. Nestled under silken sheets, wrapped up in the comfort of their warmth, all unneeded indulgences for immortal life. 

Hermes couldn’t concede to such things. He paced the halls in an effort to avoid stillness and rest. He made it all the way to the golden gates of Olympus before his father’s steely command rang through his head. In an effort to avoid Zeus’ wrath, Hermes headed back to bed. 

He wanted to work. He yearned to fulfill his multitudinous duties. If he held still, then his mind would as well. If he stopped, then idle thoughts would creep in. If let them, his mind would turn. And it always led to. . . 

Hermes scoffed and wrapped his arms around himself, moving faster. 

He wanted to assist the midnight travellers, he wanted to find the insomniac merchants, he wanted to aid some thief in the middle of the night. He could whisper blessings of children to lovers in the dark or guide the pen of a student etching their first words. He could scoop up the dead and bring them to. . . 

He snarled and dug his nails into his arms. 

Hermes’ quarters were hardly a sanctuary. The plush bed was still neatly presentable and such an unused place should have been spartan, but an disorderly array of paraphernalia lay scattered across the room. Offerings that had been left at temples in his name, regalia of his likeness, statues carved to worship him. All of them missing the mark on his appearance, but Hermes coveted them all the same. 

Whispers echoed off the walls of his room. Prayers that came filtering to him. Requests for safe travel, for swiftness, for aid. Mortals who called upon his help which Hermes would always be ready to provide. 

_If he hadn’t been grounded!_

Hermes waved his hand and dismissed the prayers, his room falling silent save for the birdsong of nightjars. He sat down on the edge of his mostly unused bed and his mind slowed. 

Hermes tried to think of something else. His work, a song he heard, stories and fables that had been told, but as always his daydreams led back to the same place. Back to _him_. 

Back to Charon. 

It had all been so unintentional. Hermes’ infatuation had come so unexpectedly that he did not know what to do with it. 

It was attraction at first sight, but that was hardly surprising. Hermes was attracted to many people, godly or human or inbetween. Call it a curse handed down by his father, but he wasn’t one actually _act_ on those urges. Over time they would fade. 

This one didn’t. 

Hermes slowly fell harder and harder, faster and faster, with every second he spent with his associate. What with his sharp wit and quiet replies. His commanding demeanour and the care he put in his tasks. The pride in his work, the diligence of his responsibilities. The way he listened to Hermes and paid him a strict heed. The way he managed to make Hermes feel special, like the greatest thing in the universe, and that his mannerisms were normal all the same. How he didn’t just tolerate Hermes, but always seemed to be glad to be around him. 

The way his fingers moved around coins. The strength in his arms. The glow of his eyes. 

Hermes rubbed his hand on his knee, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing. 

Hermes had been next to his associate, fluttering just above, when he managed to catch a peek down Charon’s collar. At a thick neck and a jutted collar bone. At the beginning definitions of a strong chest hidden below billowing robes. Telling Hermes that there was nothing beneath. 

Hermes wasn’t breathing. His hand slowly crept up his leg to the edge of his chiton. 

Worst of all was the beginning of this grounding. When Hermes had been wobbly on his feet. He had tripped, actually _tripped_ , but Charon was there to catch him. Hermes had landed face first against that hardened chest. A strong hand pressed splayed against his back, holding him close and demonstrating just what Charon could do with that hand. What he could do with Hermes. 

Hermes’ fingers twisted, tracing the skin of his inner thigh. 

Hermes hadn’t known. He did not know that the world didn’t have the instant reaction he had, that Charon hadn’t been universally attractive as he was to him. That his appetites ran so focused and singular. That he had a _type_. And that his type was one and no other. 

Charon, sweet Charon, with all his attention and kindness and strength, only layered on this deep seated thirst that coursed through Hermes. 

Hermes objectified him. 

He wrapped his hand around his achingly hard cock. 

He barked out a shaking sigh and a whimper, his brows pinched together painfully, and his head rocked forward in shame. His fingers shook as he tightened his grip. He looked down to see the spot of damp where his chiton clung to the head of his dick. 

“Fuck,” Hermes whined and flopped back onto his bed. 

He began moving his hand in an effort to end this as quickly as possible and draped his arm over his eyes. He tried to focus on the physical pleasure of it and solely just that, but his mind went back to fantasy and memory. His mind drifted back to where it always did. 

When he had fallen against Charon and gotten a first hand experience of just what that body was like, he had tilted his head up to look. Almost like a lover. Charon had gazed down upon him, shadowed under the brim of his hat, but the purple light of his eyes glowed like galaxies. He had said something and his chest rumbled against Hermes’ body. Smoke had plumed against his face, cold as the atmosphere and smelling of spice. 

Hermes whined and tilted his head, jerking himself faster. 

Oh what it would have been if Charon had leaned down to breath that night laced material deep into Hermes. To fill his mouth with it, to fill his lungs. Charon could have held him in place there, not that Hermes would have left. His hand was large enough to have wrapped around Hermes’ waist, splayed over his hips. Charon could touch whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. 

Hermes longed to have gone up on his toes, to meet Charon. He yearned to rest his lips against his face, feel if he was a chilled as his breath or if he was as hot as Styx. He wanted to run his tongue over Charon’s teeth, to slip into his mouth and really taste his associate. He wanted it to be sweet and romantic. He wanted it to be filth and obscene. He wanted Charon to bend him backwards and lick back into him. 

“Uuunnh,” Hermes groaned, swiping his thumb over the head and smearing precum. 

What he wouldn’t give to have Charon’s hand trail down his back. Dipping in at the base of his spine, travelling over the swell of his ass. Wouldn’t it have been so wonderful if Charon’s hands wandered and explored. If they squeezed the girth of his legs and slipped under the stretch of his thigh band. What if he pulled and snapped the cloth against his skin. 

Hermes panted, sliding his hand over his eyes. His hips quivered and bucked up into his hand. 

“Charon,” he breathed. 

Hermes wanted those hands. He wanted them to touch him the way he touched himself. He imagined Charon’s fingers and pulled his arm away from his face. He trailed his own fingers over his lips, pulling on them, imagining Charon’s rings passing cooly over his skin. 

Down his neck where Charon could wrap his hand and _press_ if he so chose. Hermes would gladly choke for him. He imagined it and cut off his air, just for a second, lacking the raw physical preternatural power of his associate. He tried and his hips left the bed. 

“Ch-charon!” he choked. 

Down down down, Charon would touch him. Hermes slid his hand into his chiton and found a pert nipple. He rubbed over it, tweaked it, pinched it. He imagined Charon’s nails digging into his skin in a way he just could not replicate and keened. 

“Charon please!” 

Impatience came over Hermes and his hand snapped to his thigh. He ran his hand over the underside, lifting his leg up onto the bed. His legs were his greatest assets and he constantly had them on display. Powerful things that propelled him at the speeds he was known for. Had Charon noticed? Had he looked? Had he _stared_? Hermes hoped so, oh how he hoped so. 

He trailed his hand higher and higher, never stopping his furious mastrubation. He traced over the crease where his ass folded into his thigh, thinking of Charon lingering there. Touching, hefting, holding, squeezing. 

Licking. 

Hermes groaned at the thought of Charon’s tongue on his legs. 

“Touch me,” he pleaded. “Please touch me. I need you to touch me.” 

He strained his arm around his hips and curled his finger between his cheeks. He probed his hole, testing it, and wishing desperately it were Charon’s tongue. 

“Charon,” Hermes breathed. 

His head arched, eyes closed, imagining Charon between his legs. He lifted his hips off his bed, practically feeling those large hands covet his ass the way he would coin. Charon would hold him up, his girth spreading Hermes’ legs and Hermes did so to accommodate his imagination. In his rampant mind, Charon’s finger pressed against him, threatening an entrance, as Hermes worked and worked and worked himself over. 

“Fuck,” Hermes whined, flopping to the bed. 

He scrambled to the edge and leaned over. A basket lay beside his bed and in a rush he reached in to pull aside silks and scarves. It fell over, its contents scattering across the floor, and he snagged a small vial before it could roll too far. 

Another implement lay on his floor. He contemplated it, holding still and simply staring at the offending object. 

He rejected it and lay back on the bed again. 

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, uncorking the vial. “Okay okay okay. Just need to do this. Just this once. It’ll be okay.”

Slick oil rubbed over his fingers, dribbling to his chest. He disregarded the mess and reached back around again. 

“Okay,” he said. 

His finger slid in. Simple and easy. Hermes groaned and threw his head back again. 

“Oh Charon,” he moaned. 

Hermes wished he could twist his hand just right, angle it the correct way, to match the vision in his head. The way Charon sat between his legs and hovered over him, his long cold finger sliding easily in and out of Hermes’ tight hole. His gaze, his stare, examining Hermes beneath him as he writhed in ecstasy. 

Hermes opened bleary eyes and stared up at the high ceiling above him. Sans Charon, he slammed his eyes shut again, preferring the man of his dreams to the void. He could feel the rumble of his voice in his ears and yearned to feel the weight of Charon against him. 

Hermes sucked in a shaking breath. 

He slid in a second slicked up finger. A groan left his lips and he dug his heel into his bed. The strength of his leg strained as he pushed up off the bed, fucking back on his fingers. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” he whined. “More. I need more.” 

Hermes’ pleas grew in pitch. His typically fast speech patterns running a mile a minute. Someone might hear. He slapped a hand over his mouth and bit his finger, whining against it. 

He spread himself, he scissored against the strain. He stretched and prepped himself for a cock that wasn’t there. His arm strained as he pumped his fingers in and out, fucking him like he thought he wanted, but it wasn’t enough. 

It would never be enough. 

Not until he got an exact need. There truly was only one person who could scratch that particular itch. 

“Damnitt,” Hermes whined and rolled over again. 

He snatched the dildo from the floor. 

It had been a joke gift from Dionysus. Or at least Hermes hoped it was a joke. His brother had been so proud of his new invention and made one for each of his siblings. Artemis promptly burned hers. Hermes was pretty sure both Ares and Aphrodite put theirs to good use. Together. 

Hermes had yet to touch his. Until he was desperate. And he was desperate. 

He held it up, inspecting the wooden tool for the first time. It was carved to be shaped like a real dick, complete with a dangling sack. A flared head arched proud, ready to find Hermes’ most secret of places. 

Charon was bigger, Hermes was sure of it. He hadn’t seen, hadn't felt anything when pressed up against Charon’s body, he had no prescient power, no oracles under his domain, but he knew. He just knew. Somewhere deep inside himself he had intimate knowledge of Charon’s gargantuan cock. 

And with all his being he wanted that offending tool to fill him silly. 

Hermes crawled face forward onto his bed. He lay on his elbows and knees, his chin close to his blankets, his legs spread, his hips high. He ran the oil up and down the false cock and found himself jerking it as if it were a real one. He slowed down, his eyes going heavy and his mouth going slack. 

He wondered how Charon would look his hand around his dick. Would he whimper? Hermes couldn’t picture Charon making such pathetic noises, but he yearned to hear them. He lusted for that kind of power over the big boatman, to have his hand on his dick, to be looking up at him as if he were a lover, and to have Charon _keen_. 

Hermes had half a mind to shove the wooden instrument in his mouth. To have his eyes roll back in his head and wrap his tongue around Charon’s dick. But the flavor of fig tree would drag him from the illusion. It would destroy the fantasy. 

“I want you,” Hermes whispered to the dick. 

He reached around and aimed the tip of the cock to his slicked up hole. He rubbed against himself, teasing himself, and twitched. His toes curled and he nestled his face against his arms. He spread his legs wider. 

“Mercy,” he whispered to Charon. “Please take mercy on me, mercy, please. I need you, please take mercy and take me. Fuck me, please.” 

Hermes pushed. 

He groaned. His back arched, his ass going high to meet the angle of the dick. His head reared back, eyes closed and pleasure drunk. 

“Oh yes, yes yes, just like that Charon,” he moaned to his imaginary lover. Picturing his skeletal face, feeling that iron grip on his hips. “Fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuck me!” 

Hermes wanted to shove the dildo in. He wanted to push against the resistance of his ass and get right to the fucking. But thats not what Charon would do. Deliberate and slow, considerate and full of restraint, Charon would take his time. He would feel every second of it, inch by painful inch pushing inside Hermes. 

“Mercy!” Hermes called into his room, thunking his chin against the bed. “Mercy please! Faster Charon, I can’t go slow, I need you to go faster. Please!” 

He was whining like a child, begging for it. Hermes took pity on himself and shoved the false dick all the way into his ass in one go. He choked, his eyes going wide. 

Alone in his room. Alone with a dildo in his room. Hermes slammed his eyes shut again to take him back to that nebulous place where Charon loved him. 

Hermes slid the dick in and out of himself slowly. He rolled it, angling it, and finding the spot that made him sing the sweetest. He took advantage of the arch, wishing so desperately it had the girth of Charon. 

Hermes panted and bowed his head. He slid his free arm on the bed and once again bit his finger in an effort to silence himself. Still he blabbered and blubbered, whimpering Charon’s name between his teeth. The oral fixation from early went unsated and Hermes slid his fingers into his mouth. He pat at his tongue, stroked it in time with the way not-Charon fucked him. 

The want and need overwhelmed him, hopelessly pathetic. Pleading to a man who wasn’t there, screaming out to him around sloppy fingers. Hermes pounded into himself hard, driving the wood to hit him with each fuck. 

It was more than the raw desire Hermes had for Charon. It was the tingling, heart dropping, mind spinning sensations that overcame him when he was merely next to the man. It was the moments when he stared at Charon’s hand and wondered what it would be to lace their fingers together. He wanted to run his fingers through Charon’s hair, to whisper all the things he felt, to truly be with the creature he desired most. 

Hermes choked on his fingers and his eyes opened wide, rolling back in his head. He could no longer keep up the farce of Charon’s predicted fucking pace and shoved the dildo fully into himself. He rested a hand over the flared base and granted the penetrative object the gift of speed. It jolted to life inside him, buzzing merrily and pounding against his softest parts. 

Hermes groaned and rose to all fours. He reached between his legs and once again found his neglected cock. He jerked himself, working himself over with the full intent of getting off. 

“M-mercy,” he breathed. 

He rocked back and forth like an animal in heat. His hand moved whippet fast, gripping tight. He bucked his hips hard and fucked into his fist. 

“Ch-charon!” he gasped. 

Behind closed eyes, his fantastical vision swam of the man he lusted for. The skeletal shape of his face, the height of his body, the broad shoulders, the deep set eyes, the mist that perpetually surrounded him. 

It was all far too much. 

Hermes threw back his head and came with Charon’s name on his lips. 

____

“And thats probably why business has been booming lately. Ares is working overtime and good for him, but I hadn’t expected Athena with her quest for knowledge to go off like this. Who knew invasions were such a bloody business.” 

Hermes spoke a mile a minute in an effort to fill any and all silence. After his little trist the night before, he hadn’t been able to look his associate in the eye. Merely flew in with his latest crop of the dead and immediately began talking. If he kept talking then he wouldn’t think about what he had done and he _certainly_ wouldn’t search for fuel for more fantasies. 

And he _definitely_ couldn’t let Charon get a word in edgewise. 

It was bad enough that he was standing next to the man, feeling the shift of his robes against his arm. Standing in the shadow of him, all too aware of how big he was. The sound of his voice might send over sensitive Hermes over the edge. 

Hermes swallowed down a shiver.

“I personally like it when Aphrodite is the reason I’m dragging these fine folks down to you,” he kept going. “Can you just imagine people getting the ol’ axe cause. . .” 

Too close, too close. He remembered screaming Charon’s name. 

“Anyways your brother gets most of those, sensitive flower that he is, he likes the soft ones. Ah look at that, full boat, time for me to go.” 

A lie. The boat was barely full, the last shades just meandering onto the skiff. Hermes normally stayed behind, said their goodbyes, lingered, but he had to get out of there as quick as possible. 

“Welp, see ya!” he said with a wave of his hand and took off into the air. 

A hand, strong as he remembered, the one that started it all, gripped him by the leg. Those long fingers were just as cool as Hermes imagined they would be and reminded him of ice. And at the touch of them he couldn’t help but imagine how they would feel in more erogenous places. 

He turned to finally look down at Charon. 

His associate looked gravely up at Hermes, eyes dark as night glowed from the shadow of his hat. No amount of memory could ever replicate the real thing. Hermes swallowed. 

“Mmmmnn, _haaaa_ ,” Charon offered. 

Hermes instantly went red. 

_Charon would give him mercy!?_

_Whenever he asked!?_

Hermes’ shoulders hiked up and a nervous smile ticked across his face. 

Hermes had been praying. He had been asking for mercy, asking for Charon, _asking for him to fuck him!_

 _And Charon had heard his prayers._

“Ah,” was all he could squeak out. 

One by one, Charon unfurled his fingers from Hermes’ leg sensually slow, just as Hermes imagined he would. His touch lingered and Hermes didn’t try to suppress the shiver that time. 

Charon nodded his head once in a firm goodbye and gave Hermes one last lingering look, full of promise. 

Hermes fluttered in the air, his heart pounding loud in his ears. He watched the big boatman climb aboard his skiff, paying extra attention to his broad shoulders. With a quick hop and a skip, Hermes zoomed out of the underworld. 

He had more _praying_ to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Charon's side of this fic is just him listening to this shit like "WELP" 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


End file.
